Sometimes, You Lose Some
by ardavenport
Summary: Sometimes, Roy and Johnny lose a victim, and the loss is felt differently by their friends and family.
1. Chapter 1

**SOMETIMES, YOU LOSE SOME**

by ardavenport

**

* * *

- - - Part 1**

"¿Dónde hacen daño a usted?"

"Uuuuh, Donde ah-sen dan-yo uuuh usted?" Roy looked intently back at Marco Lopez as he repeated the question.

"No, 'a usted'."

"Aah usted."

Marco's lip curled but he turned to Johnny. "Okay, now you try."

He straightened in the wooden chair. "Aaaaaah, Donde ha-cen da-ño aah usted." Then he frowned when Marco rolled his eyes.

"How's it going?" Captain Stanley strolled into the day room of the station, papers in hand.

Johnny answered first. "Oh great, Cap. It's going pretty well." But his grin dimmed a little at Marco's expression.

"Needs some more work, Cap." Marco shook his head, elbow on the edge of the kitchen table.

Johnny scowled back. "That wasn't so bad."

"Speak for yourself." Arms on the table, Roy slouched forward. He was not ashamed to admit that he was out of his depth. Johnny had the advantage of two years of high school Spanish, though he hardly remembered it any better than Roy recalled his high school German.

"Well, keep at it." Captain Stanley went to the station bulletin board. "You don't want any more rescues like that one you had last shift." He tacked up a light blue sheet.

"Noooo way." Johnny shook his head. Roy sighed and straightened, ready to start again. No they did not want another call with an old man, obviously having chest pains, but still able to jab a shovel and shout outraged Spanish at them. The neighbor who had called them didn't speak Spanish either. Only the victim's daughters, coming home from the grocery store, saved the situation.

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh – BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"Squad Fifty-One – Man down – Three-three-two-seven Cresent Place - Three-three-two-seven Cresent Place - Cross Street Greenbelt Boulevard - Time Out, Ten-forty-one."

Johnny got to the door into the apparatus room first along with Roy. Captain Stanley went to the radio alcove.

"Squad Fifty-One, Kay-Em-Gee-Three-Six-Five."

Stanley handed Roy a piece of paper with the address on it and Roy passed it on to Johnny as he put his fire helmet on. Roy started the engine. Johnny clicked on the lights and siren, and the squad rolled out, down the short driveway. Traffic on the five-lane street was light; a few cars slowed, letting the Squad out. Roy turned left.

Familiar gray buildings went by, cars slowing and pulling over for their siren. But at two intersections, they were blocked by traffic at the lights, forcing Roy to slow down, into the lanes of the oncoming traffic, to go around them.

They left concrete and telephone pole wire commercial area and headed toward greener, more residential streets. The address was on the edge of their area. Looking up from the map from the glove compartment, Johnny wasn't sure about Cresent Place, but he knew where Greenbelt Boulevard was. He pointed.

"Turn right up here."

After two more turns they were on Cresent Place. Johnny looked at the numbers on the houses. Twenty-eight-hundred. Twenty-nine-hundred. . . .

Three-three-two-seven Cresent Place was a modest single-story house with a poorly watered front lawn and tree in front. Roy stopped the squad in the driveway. Twelve minutes. They left their helmets in the front seat and went to the right side compartment for their equipment.

A woman in a flowered dress and white sweater. ran out the front door.

"Oh help, please! My father, he's having a hear attack! He's stopped breathing!"

Biophone, drug box, oxygen, defibrillator. Loaded up, they ran up the front steps and into the house after her. The victim was on his back on the carpet in the living room, next to a worn green sofa. Wearing black and white striped pajamas, the old man was pale, his cheeks hollow, his mouth open, his hands clutched to his chest. If he wasn't breathing when she called. . . .

Roy got to him first. "He's not breathing. No pulse."

Johnny tore open his shirt – he was so thin, his ribs stood out, his skin bloodlessly pale – and started CPR. He could hear dogs barking in another room of the house. One-thousand-and-one, one-thousand-and-two, one-thousand-and-three . . . .

"Ma'am, does your father have a heart condition? Any health problems?" Roy took out the defibrillator paddles as he spoke.

"No, no, no. He's fine." Her voice rose hysterically, standing behind him. "He's fine, he's fine! Just do something!"

One-thousand-and-one, one-thousand-and-two, one-thousand-and-three . . . .

Bam! "What's going on here!"

Johnny didn't look up at the sound of the loud, angry male voice entering.

One-thousand-and-one, one-thousand-and-two, one-thousand-and-three . . . .

"Get out of here you parasite! You murdered him!" Something breakable crashed Roy reached across the man's chest with the paddles and Johnny pulled back for a few seconds, looking toward the small screen on the defibrillator. Flat line - -

"What do you people think you're doing?"

"Sir, this man is sick, we're – "

One-thousand-and-one, one-thousand-and-two - - -

"Aaaaaaaauuuucccckkkkkk!"

Johnny grabbed onto the meaty forearm suddenly around his neck and lifting him up. His feet kicked the air.

"Hey!"

"Aaaaaauuuuggghhhhh!"

He dug his fingers in, but it felt as if he had no strength at all compared with the tightening grip on his neck. His attacker swung him away; his feet still couldn't touch the floor. He saw the squad, bright red next to green grass and bushes, through the living room window, then a flash of blue from Roy's uniform. But his partner could hardly move the arm. The woman yelled.

"You crazy bastard! I'm calling the police!"

"Aaaaaaauuuugggghhhh!"

He could get air. But a pounding pressure built up in his head, rapidly rising in volume. Blackness closed in on either side of him. The living room curtain, the wall, Roy, all turned gray. Fading into a black tunnel . . . .

. . . . . something wet touched his face.

He batted at it.

Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!

It was a puppy. Two. Three puppies. Light gold fur, dark eyes, tails wagging furiously. They snuffled him, their noses to the carpet he was lying on. A full grown dog that looked like a golden retriever nosed around the pups. The stifling pressure faded out of his head.

What?

Seeing movement, he lifted his head, pushed himself up and blinked away the dizziness. A broad-shouldered man in a green and white striped shirt that fit tightly over his chest reached down with a forearm as big around as his leg.

"Hey!"

The man's big fist grabbed his collar and lifted him up. The man looked maybe 30, with a broad square jaw and military-short haircut. He didn't look angry. But those blue eyes were determined.

"Hey! Let go of me! What do you think you're doing? We're here to help!"

Where was the victim? Johnny saw the old man lying where they'd found him, their equipment still on the floor along with a dark brown puppy. Where was Roy?

He struggled and tried to squirm away. But this man was an unstoppable human tank. That big forearm wrapped around his neck again and dragged him backwards. Johnny's foot connected with a puppy on the floor and it yelped. The dog barked. The man dragged him out of the living room into the hall, the pressure on his neck increasing. His peripheral vision turned to gray again. . . .

. . . . . " - - ohnny? Johnny?"

He saw darkness and a straight vertical crack of light. Reviving all at once, Johnny realized that he was partially standing, his body pressed up against another, his cheek leaning next to cloth with moving muscle and bone under that.

"Johnny? Come on."

His partner's voice was right above his head, Roy's arms under his armpits and wrapped around him, shaking him.

"Hnnnuuuhh?" He tried to jump away, but something jabbed him in the back and something heavy fell on the floor behind his feet. Suddenly dizzy and nauseous, he lost his balance and started to fall, but there wasn't any room to fall in, between a short bit of wall, cardboard boxes and heavy hanging cloth. He dislodged more things, paper sounds, things thumping into more things. Then Roy's weight fell on him and Johnny briefly felt the impression of a name tag on his forehead. Something heavy and round rolled on Johnny's toe and he jerked his foot away.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

They were all arms and legs jabbing each other and bumping into things in the dark confined space. Johnny's elbow hit something hard and wooden right on the nerve. Paper fluttering; a book hit his shoulder. Then Roy pushed himself back and Johnny felt his partner's arm under his armpit again, pulling him up. But something long and bulky had fallen between them. Johnny's hand felt parts of it as he tried to push it away. Curved handle. Heavy cloth on a crosspiece. Electrical cord.

A vacuum cleaner?

Where were they?

"Roy? What-what happened?" He rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder where the book had gotten him. Taking deep breaths the nausea went down, the dizziness fading, though the air was hardly fresh. The upright vacuum cleaner handle fell back against them.

"That guy put us in the hall closet."

"What?" His eyes adjusting to the light, Johnny could now see the outline of the door where light came in through the cracks at the edges. And the closet seemed to be full with heavy cloth coats and boxes limiting them to the space by the door. Johnny wrinkled his nose from a faint scent of old paper, ammonia and moth balls.

"Are you okay?" Roy grabbed his arm, his pen light coming on and Johnny shut his eyes away from the sudden brightness. But Roy put his hand firmly on his shoulder and there wasn't any place to go. "You were out for about half a minute." Roy's fingers touched his neck. "Are you having any trouble breathing?"

Johnny touched his neck, too. "No, I could still breathe after he grabbed me. Everything just went black." Even though he no longer felt shaky or sick, he let Roy check his eyes with the pen light.

"Hmm, he must have cut the circulation off." The light lowered. Johnny saw it pass over Roy's wrist watch. Eleven o'clock. Putting the pen light away, Roy looked up and pressed his hands to the door. "This door's pretty solid." The doorknob rattled; it was locked. "I couldn't move it even before that guy shoved you in here, too." In the gloom, Roy turned around and put his back to it.

Circulation . . . .

"Roy! The victim!"

They rolled at ten-forty-one. Twelve minutes to get there. And the victim wasn't breathing. He looked bad.

Pushing the vacuum cleaner back, Johnny put his shoulder to the door, but even with both of them pushing the door didn't move.

"Man this door is solid. There's not enough room in here to get a running start on it." Johnny pushed as the piles of boxes, among the wall of heavy coats, to make more room, but he just heard things falling down. The boxes by their feet wouldn't budge.

"Wait." Roy put his ear to the door. "I can hear them."

Doing the same, Johnny heard the woman angrily shrieking. And dogs barking. He couldn't make out most of it other then a distinct 'You killed him!' along with some significant cussing. The man cussed right back at her along with a 'greedy bitch!' Their voices faded out. They were going to another part of the house.

Bam! Bam! Bam! "Hey! Let us out! Hey! Hey!"

Roy joined him. "Come on! Let us out!" Bam! Bam! Bam!

The woman's voice rose in shrill outrage, matched by a masculine 'Nooooo, you don't!" along with 'you never cared about him' and 'all you want is the house!' fragments. The shouting moved away again.

Johnny pounded again, harder. Bam! Bam! Bam! "Hey! Come back here and let us out! Hey!" They strained at the door again. They traded places and Johnny put his boot on the lock, but he only had a few inches to kick with. It just wasn't enough. What crazy person needed to lock a closet like Fort Knox?

He looked at his watch, the hands fluorescent in the dark. Eleven-oh-two. Maybe oh-three. He slumped against the door.

"Man, Roy, that guy's dead." Even if the man had only stopped breathing just before they got there (which he seriously doubted), he was already well into the 'brain damage very likely' range.

Roy sighed, leaning against the door, too. "Yeah. I know." His eyes adjusted to the darkness, Johnny could just make out a faint outline of his face, the defeat in his eyes. "I think the lady called the cops. She ran for the phone when that guy came in and grabbed you. I guess it was in the back of the house; that's when the dogs got out."

"Well, what else happened?"

"After he dropped you, he grabbed me, shoved me in here and locked the door. A couple minutes later he shoved you in here, too, and locked the door again."

"You couldn't stop him?

"Hey, I don't know if you got a good look at him, but that guy had at least eighty pounds on me; he was built like a mountain. I didn't have a chance."

"Yeah. . . . I guess so." Johnny rubbed his neck. "I sure didn't get anywhere with him." He sneezed. From the smell in the closet he was pretty sure that some of the puppies had been in there. He turned around, his face hitting the shoulder of a wool coat. The vacuum cleaner handle fell down against him again. Frustrated, he pushed it back hard, to get it out of the way.

"Maybe we can use something here to get out with?" Johnny reached between the coats but found only cardboard boxes. They were stacked high, filling the whole back of the closet. He felt up on a top shelf above their heads, but it was stacked with shoe boxes. A cloth hat fell on him.

"Hey." Roy pressed his ear to the door again. "I think I hear a siren."

**

* * *

- - - End Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**SOMETIMES, YOU LOSE SOME**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 2**

Johnny heard it. A siren getting louder. He looked at his watch again. Not soon enough.

The dog started barking. It was in the hall. A puppy whined and scratched right outside the closet door. The voices yelling in the other part of the house got louder, but no closer.

"Come on." Johnny banged on the door impatiently.

After too much time, they heard the police siren stop in front. The woman shrieked, "I'm in here! Help!"

Wham! Wham! Wham! "Police!" The front door banged open.

"Hey! Hey! We're in here!" Johnny pounded on the closet door and Roy joined him.

"Hey! Hey! Over here!"

Woof, woof, woof! Whine, whine, whine, whine!

They heard voices; there was more than one officer.

"Hey! Over here! Come on!"

Something thumped on the door.

"Police! Who's in there?" Johnny didn't recognize the deep voice. Roy answered it.

"We're paramedics, LA County Fire Department. That's our squad in front. The guy locked us in here!"

The doorknob rattled.

"It's locked."

Johnny's mouth opened, incredulous. "Yeah! We already know it's locked! Break it down!"

"Hang on. I'm going to get a key." They heard the cop move off.

"Hey! Hey! What're you doing? Break the door down!"

In the gloom next to him, Roy did not join in. "I'm not sure I want the police breaking this door down when I'm right behind it."

"Hunh?" Johnny looked from his partner to the door and up at the light coming in through the crack at the top. Coats and boxes at his back, the door was only a few inches from them. The vacuum cleaner handle fell down again, bumping into his back. "Oh. I guess you're right." He pushed the vacuum away again.

They impatiently stood around in the dark for the next few minutes. The second hands on their watches relentlessly ticked off the time while the policemen, the woman and the man talked and shouted. The dogs barked and yipped.

"Hey! Hey! Are you ever going to let us out?" Johnny pounded on the door impatiently. "What are they doing out there?"

"I don't know." Roy hammered on the door, too. "Hey! Come one! Get us out of here!"

They heard a familiar voice, someone in the hallway. A key rattled in the lock.

"Finally!" Johnny shouldered his way out first, past a surprised Officer Vince Howard. He hurried to the living room, Roy right behind him. The victim lay exactly where they'd found him. He looked bad then; he looked dead now, but they both knelt down on either side him. Roy's blue eyes expressed the defeat they both felt. He had not had much of a chance of survival when they got there, but to be denied even that slim chance. . . .

Shaking his head, Johnny reached for the equipment box next to him. But Vince Howard's voice stopped him.

"Just hold on there."

Johnny looked up.

"Don't touch anything. That's a murder scene now."

"What?" Roy stood, baffled.

"Everything's got to stay where it is until the detectives get here." Howard waved his hand toward Johnny. "Just step away from him, now."

"What?" Johnny looked all around at their equipment as he stood. Biophone, drug box, oxygen, defibrillator. "Vince, what about our equipment? We can't leave it here."

"Well, you're going to have to, least until the detectives get here. And you're going to have to give us a statement about what happened after the Sargent finishes talking to those other two."

There were voices in some other part of the house, the woman's voice most distinct when she shouted. Roy tried to reason with Howard.

"But Vince, we've got to make ourselves available and we can't do much without our equipment."

Howard shook his head. In dark Sheriff's deputy uniform and blue and white helmet, he was the law. "Mm-mm, everything stays right here where it is." Then he relented a little. "Can't you call the department to get replacements? We'll send everything back to your station as soon as we're done here."

"Well, yeah." But Roy didn't look happy about it and neither was Johnny. "Is there a phone around here to call the station from?"

Vince pointed. "It's back there in the kitchen. Just watch out for the dogs."

With last looks toward the dead man on the floor, they left, went down the hallway, past the closet and another door to a white door at the end.

Apparently, the people in the house had been keeping the puppies in the kitchen. There were newspapers all over the floor, dog dishes, water dishes and a scattering of puppy kibble. The papers stuck to their shoes where the puppies had piddled on them. The phone was on a wall by a window over a white-topped kitchen table. Roy picked up the receiver and dialed while Johnny scraped away a scrap of paper stuck to his boot on a chair leg. A golden furred puppy sniffed around their feet.

"Hello, Marco? . . . We're having some problems on this run. Can you put the Captain on? . . . . . . . . . . . . Yeah, Cap. We've got kind of a situation here. Some guy attacked us when were were trying to help a heart attack victim . . . . . oh, we're fine, but the victim died and now the cops say it's a murder scene and they won't let us have our equipment back until they're done with it. . . . . I don't know. Could be a few hours. . . . . "

The kitchen door opened; one of the cops deposited two squirming puppies and hastily closed the door.

" . . . . .Well, there's the drug box, the Biophone, the defibrillator and O2 . . . . Yeah, we can use that . . . . . . . . I don't know, they're still talking to the other people. Could be an hour . . . . . . . Yeah right, Cap. We'll get there as soon as we can." With a sigh, Roy hung up.

"Well?"

Roy shrugged. "He said he'll call headquarters. He wants us back at the station as soon as the cops let us go. They should have dropped the stuff off by then."

"That's just great." Frustrated Johnny folded his arms and leaned on the table. It was a very ordinary kitchen. White wallpaper with a flower pattern. Big white wall clock with a chicken on it. White, 1950's style stove and ice box. Sink full of dishes. An open jar of applesauce on the counter. The puppies (there were three of them) yipped and ran around, tails wagging, sniffing everything as if it was new. "We're stuck here while the cops out there play detective."

Roy leaned on the table next to him. "Yeah, I don't like being out of service for this long. Especially for something like this." Then he turned to him. "Are you sure you're alright? I mean you passed out pretty quick, twice."

"I'm fine." He waved off his partner's concern. "He just caught me by surprise."

"Well, . . . all right."

Johnny could still feel Roy looking at him. He looked at the wall clock, then at his watch. The wall clock was ten minutes slow. "Roy?" Johnny spoke slowly, a thought forming. "You don't think they're going to ask us to testify or anything?"

"I don't know." He scratched behind his ear "I guess." But he didn't sound that certain.

The door opened again and the cop pushed in two more puppies.

Roy raised his hand. "Uh, hey, how long - - "

The door closed.

" - - are we going to be here . . . "

Irritated, Johnny frowned. "Well, that's great. It's not like we don't have a job to do, too!"

The door opened again, just enough to let the dog in. And another puppy.

"Hey! How long are you keeping us here?" Johnny took a step toward the retreating cop.

"Dunno. They're still talking to the others." He didn't even look up before disappearing behind the closed door again.

Johnny threw his hands up. "I don't believe it!"

More resigned to their situation, Roy knelt to pet the dog. She wagged her tail and licked his face. She had longish golden hair and a long feathery tail. Most of the puppies crowded around her except for one snuffling the floor by the stove. Johnny counted. Six. He kicked away a newspaper that clung to his shoe.

"Uh, how does anybody cook in here?" He wrinkled his nose. The closet's puppy-smell had been mild compared to this. Looking in the sink, he saw bowls, small plates, spoons and cups, half-filled with water, unidentifiable soggy gobs of food still clinging to them. It looked like they had been there for awhile. An open box of Pop Tarts leaned on a couple of dirty glasses next to a grimy toaster. Ugh. He looked away. Out the back window was a bare yard of yellowing grass and bushes in back. He wondered if the victim lived alone, or with his daughter?

The door opened and Vince Howard stuck his head in.

"Okay, they're ready for you."

Leaving the dog and puppies behind, Johnny and then Roy edged out of the kitchen. The dog barked and scratched on the door behind them.

Vince led them to the front hall and introduced them to two men in suits, Sargent Davis and Detective Salinas.

The woman in the flowered dress and sweater tensely hugged herself. She was middle-aged, thin like her father, with slightly graying dark blonde hair and no make-up at all. Davis introduced her as Esther Ralston She only acknowledge them with a curt nod and a tight-lipped glare. The man who had attacked them was nowhere to be seen.

Sargent Davis started out with simple questions about the call, when they arrived and what they did. Roy answered most of them with Johnny filling in some details.

Davis and Salinas wrote it all down in little notepads. Davis nodded, frowning under his mustache and tapping his pad with the end of his pen.

"So, you started CPR as soon as you arrived. How were you so sure Mr. Ralston had had a heart attack?"

Roy gestured to the woman. "Miss Ralston told us when she came out to meet us when we arrived. And he didn't have a pulse and wasn't breathing when we examined him. Our first priority was restore blood flow to the brain."

Davis nodded thoughtfully. "So, you two tried to revive him at Miss Ralston's request."

Johnny narrowed his eyes at the detectives. What were they getting at?

"And how much time would you say you have to revive a man who isn't breathing, Mr. DeSoto?"

"Well, brain damage can occur after only four minutes without oxygen. After six minutes it's extremely likely. After ten . . . there's really no serious hope to revive the victim."

Davis exchanged a silent look with his partner. "Ten minutes? And would any significant health problems affect that timetable? Shorten it, perhaps?"

Roy looked confused. "Well, that would depend on what the victim had. But Miss Ralston said he didn't have any health problems."

The detectives looked at her.

She snapped back at them defensively. "They only asked if he had any heart problems. He's never had a heart problem."

Roy's mouth opened at the bald-faced lie. "Ma'am, I asked if your father had any health problems, remember?"

Glaring at her, Johnny just kept his mouth shut. She wasn't going to tell the truth. Remembering how thin her father had been, he was sure that there had been something else wrong with him, something serious, that she didn't tell them. She drew back defensively.

"We don't need to keep you gentlemen any longer." Davis snapped his notebook shut. Salinas silently tucked his into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Mr. DeSoto, Mr. Gage, we'll be contacting you later if we need any more from you." He stepped aside, making a clear path to the front door. "Officer Howard, can you please see these men out so they can get back to their jobs."

Johnny had no problem with getting out of that house as quick as possible, but Roy raised one objection, pointing toward the dead man on the living room carpet. "Can we at least have our equipment back?"

Davis shook his head. "Sorry, I have to wait for the lab boys to get here. I promise, as soon as they're finished I'll have one of my men drop everything off at your firehouse."

Johnny grabbed his partner's arm and dragged him toward the door. "Come one, Roy."

They left, going across the grass to the squad, but Roy still asked a parting question.

"You want to tell us what that was all about, Vince?"

Howard shook his head, friendly, but still official. "Now, you know I can't talk about that. As soon as the lab guys are done with it, I'll bring your stuff back to the station personally." He left them at the squad. Unsurprised that they were being shut out again, Johnny looked around. There were four cop cars in the street and - - -

"Hey, Roy." He pointed. "Look."

Sitting in the back of one patrol car, they saw the head of the man who had attacked them, an officer standing by the door. The two paramedics looked at each other. The cops had their man at least. They got into the squad and left.

They didn't say much on the drive back to Station Fifty-One, except to agree that the victim's daughter didn't tell them something important about her father's health. Roy hinted that they could stop by Rampart to have the doctors look at him, but Johnny just wanted to get back to the station.

A man from headquarters had just left when they got back. Captain Stanley and the others hung around in the apparatus bay while Roy and Johnny checked out the replacements and told them what happened. Chet Kelly's eyes lit up when Roy described the attack on Johnny.

"Hey, was that guy a wrestler? Sounds like a wrestling move."

"I don't know; he could have been. We never got a name. But that guy was big enough to be one." Roy closed up the O2, stood and hefted it into the open squad compartment.

"A wrestling move?" Johnny looked up from the open drug box on the concrete floor.

"Yeah." Chet crouched next to him, his voice low and dramatic. "A guy gets his opponent from behind in a choke hold." His hands grasped an imaginary opponent; transfixed, Johnny's eyes followed them. "But instead of strangling him, he applies pressure on the carotid artery and boom!" - - Johnny startled back when Chet smacked his first down on the palm of his other hand - - "guy's out like a light before he knows what's happened to him."

Johnny rubbed his throat speculatively. "Yeah?" That sounded exactly like what happened to him.

"Yep." Chet patted him on the shoulder and stood. "Guy must have been a pro."

"No wonder the cops arrested him." Marco nodded. "But I can't believe they wouldn't tell you anything about what happened. I thought we were all working for the same side?" He leaned on the engine next to Make Stoker.

"Aah, don't sweat it." Captain Stanley waved off his discontent. "At least when we put out a fire, we don't have to go to court about it later. They said they'll contact you guys later; we'll find out what it was all about then." He shrugged and walked off. Then turned back to his two paramedics. "When you're done with the equipment you can come back to the office and help me fill out the report."

They sighed in unison, looking down at the replacement equipment that they now had to account for until the cops returned theirs. They didn't have to go to court, but sometimes it seemed like they had just as much paperwork to do as the cops.

**

* * *

- - - End Part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**SOMETIMES, YOU LOSE SOME**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 3**

Johnny and Roy got in for their next shift at the same time. Disappointingly, the cops had not contacted either one of them about what happened with Mr. Ralston, his daughter and their attacker.

Even worse, Johnny hadn't heard from Sherry either. He'd met her in the Rampart cafeteria where she worked as a cashier. They had only been on one date and it seemed like she hadn't had that bad a time, but now, whenever he called, her roommate said she was out. He knew she was avoiding him, but he didn't understand why a girl couldn't give a guy a break and at least tell him what went wrong.

They finished getting dressed, left the locker room and went to check out the squad and the equipment. The C-shift paramedics gave them a run-down on their day. Ten runs, none of them too serious, but three of them had been after they'd gone to bed, so both Dwyer and Benton were ready to go home.

There was fresh coffee in the day room. Captain Stanley had made it; he was in an exceptionally good mood as they sat down at the kitchen table with the others. He had scored big with his step-daughter's fourth grade class. They had been having some kind of invitation show-and-tell that month where the school invited the children's fathers in to talk about what they did for a living. Yesterday had been his turn.

"If you ever have to do anything think this, if you tell headquarters in advance, they'll give you stuff to give out to the kids." Stanley rubbed his hands and leaned over the table. "So, I get to the office. And there's two other guys already there and I swear the air just went right out of them as soon as they saw me." He grinned.

Roy grinned back. "You were wearing your helmet and turnout coat."

"Well, of course. I was representing the department."

Stoker grinned. "You should have brought a fire ax, too."

"Yeah. . . . " Stanley rubbed his chin speculatively before discarding the idea. "Nyah, you don't want to overdo things like this. You've got to keep it simple."

Johnny and Chet had to snicker about their captain's false modesty, but Stanley was in such a good mood, he didn't seem to mind.

"So, they take us to the class and we go in and . . . well, I swear I heard some of the kids 'ooohin' and 'aaahing' when I walked in. And the teacher was smart. She had me go last. Now, the first guy did okay. He was an airplane mechanic and he was wearing his overalls and he brought some model planes to pass around. But they next three guys . . . ." Stanley shook his head in pity, ". . . they worked in some offices, insurance or accounting or something like that. They could barely keep the class interested, let alone explain what they did for a living. And then it was my turn."

"Yeah? And?" Marco sounded a little impatient, but Stanley didn't seem to mind that either. He smugly sat back in his chair.

"What can I tell you? I was the star act." He gestured, chest out proudly. "They all wanted to know about riding on a fire engine and putting out fires. And Debbie couldn't stop talking about it to her mother when she got home."

They all agreed that even though the fathers who worked in offices likely made more money than they did, some benefits of the job could not be measured with a salary.

They finished with the morning coffee and cleaned up the kitchen. Their first run wasn't until almost an hour after morning muster. A fire in a diner kitchen. The only injury was the cook and he just had minor burns on his hands. He let them bandage them, but he declined the ambulance, saying he couldn't afford to pay for it. One of waitresses drove his to the hospital. The engine crew overhauled the considerable damage to the kitchen, but they didn't need any help so Roy made the squad available. As soon as he did they got another call. Child injured.

It took them six minutes to get the house in a middle-class neighborhood of shady trees and green, well-watered lawns where a frantic woman beckoned to them from the front door. They got their equipment out and ran to her.

"I was just across the street, and I was only gone for ten minutes and when I came back I heard this loud noise and Eric was just playing back here with his sister and he's hurt!" She babbled as she led them to the back of the house into a family room with games and books on the shelves. A glass sliding door let in lots of light from a backyard with a pool. Both Roy and Johnny stared down, aghast, at the injury.

A blond-haired boy, maybe ten years-old lay next to a green vinyl sofa. A neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, a pool of blood soaked a cream-colored rug under his head.

"Please, please, you've got to help him!"

Johnny winced. The boy wore a red, green and blue striped shirt and jeans. A revolver rested next to one knee. Roy put the Biophone down and grabbed the mother's arms. "Ma'am, Ma'am." He forced her to look at him. "We can't do anything to help him. I'm sorry."

Breathing loudly, she stared back at him for a moment. Then she screamed.

Johnny put the drug box down and moved to help, but Roy already had her turned away from the grisly scene. "We've got to get her out of here. Get the equipment."

Johnny grabbed the Biophone and the drug box, but hesitated, looking around the room for a table cloth or loose jacket or something. He hated leaving the boy there uncovered, but he didn't see anything he could use. He left.

Roy sat the woman down on a sofa in a living room in the front of the house. She didn't fight him, but wailing hysterically, she didn't help either.

Roy looked up at him. "Better call it in."

After setting the drug box and Biophone down on the coffee table, Johnny ran out to the squad, opened the passenger door and grabbed the radio mic.

"This is Squad Fifty-One. We have a Code F at our location. Repeat, Code F. A child in an apparent handgun accident. Request police assistance."

"Ten-four Fifty-One."

Johnny breathed deeply and ran his hands through his hair and stared at that middle class house with the neatly trimmed bushes in front. In the corner of his eye, he saw some neighbors in their front yards pointing in his direction. He really did not want to go back inside. But he could never, ever imagine leaving Roy alone to handle a situation like that. He ran back in.

"Johnny, there's a little girl here, too. Check the rest of the house."

He didn't stop long enough to notice anything more than the mother was crying less loudly now. He just ran into a hallway and started opening doors. Closet. Bathroom. Master bedroom, empty. He ran up a flight of stairs to the second floor. The first room had pink flowered wall paper. Something moved behind the bed with a pink cover.

Johnny raised his hands. "It's okay. It's okay."

The little blond girl hiding in the corner stared up at him in terror. He put his hand to his blue uniform shirt, under his badge.

"It's okay. I'm with the fire department. Me and my partner just came to help. Now I need to know if you're hurt anywhere."

She vigorously shook here head and hugged an enormous stuffed white bear to her blue shirt. Wearing socks and shoes and plaid skirt, her cheeks red and her eyes teary, she huddled on the floor by a window so he couldn't see all of her, but he didn't see any sign of injury. No blood. He took a step closer and she cowered back against the wall.

"Now, you're sure you're not hurt anywhere?"

A vigorous nod and a sniffle. She clutched the bear tightly to her body, like a shield.

"Okay." He backed off. "Now, I want you to just stay right here. We're going to be right downstairs. If you need any help, just call out and we'll come to you. All right?"

Another vigorous nod.

When Johnny returned to the living room the woman was curled up on the sofa, crying in a large pillow and moaning quietly, 'He's a good kid. He's always been a good kid. He wouldn't do anything like that.' Roy stood next to an end table, on the phone.

"This is Fireman Roy DeSoto with the LA County Fire Department, is Mr. Downey in please? . . . . well can you give him a message that he needs to call his house immediately . . . . yes, it's an emergency. Thank-you." He hung up. Johnny joined him and gestured toward the upstairs.

"There's a little girl up in her room scared out of her wits. I don't think she's hurt, but she's terrified of me coming anywhere near her and I don't want to bring her down here." Johnny thought he sounded a little more desperate than he meant. Or maybe a little less than he should have been. Roy nodded back. He looked sick.

"Her husband's at some construction site; I just left a message."

Johnny saw movement through the window behind Roy. "Oh, great. The neighbors." A balding man in a dark sweater and holding a garden rake craned his neck to see inside from the sidewalk out front.

Roy grimaced. "Well, I don't care how much they look as long as they stay outside." He turned back to the woman, approached and knelt by the sofa.

"Ma'am. I've called your husband's office and left a message for him to call right away. Are there any other family members or friends that you want me to call? Someone you can be with?"

"No. No." The words came out trembling. "No, just get Irvin, please. Right away." She dissolved into a fit of crying, muffled by the pillow.

"Okay, we'll do that." Roy stood and backed away again. "That's about all we can do." He spoke very quietly in a half-whisper. "We'll just have to wait for the cops to get here so we can hand this over to them."

There wasn't any more to say; the hospital couldn't help; they couldn't help, but they had to stay. As respectfully to the mother as he could, Roy took the Biophone and drug box away and put them back in the squad. The mother wept quietly that her-son-was-a-good-boy, he knew-wasn't-supposed-to-get-into-his-father's-things, and It-wasn't-loaded. Every other little sound filled the empty space of the living room. A clock ticking on the mantelpiece, distant traffic from outside. Johnny moved so he could see the staircase, to make sure the little girl didn't come downstairs.

They heard a siren.

**- - - End Part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**SOMETIMES, YOU LOSE SOME**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 4**

* * *

When the patrol car pulled up there were three neighbors on the front sidewalk, but the cops brushed past them with a cursory, 'Stay back.' Johnny held the door open for them, Officer Dave Edgewood and his partner, Clay Hallowett. Huddled in the doorway, they quietly filled the officers in on what they found and that they had left a message with the woman's husband. Grim faced, the officers told them to stay until the detectives arrived and that they were on their way. Then they went in, one kneeling next to the woman on the couch, the other going to the back of the house.

More waiting. More sirens approached. Looking out the window by the front door, Johnny saw more than a dozen civilians, adults and kids from the neighborhood, loitering outside. Another patrol car and a green sedan with a flashing light on top arrived and Johnny thought that it had to be cruel fate that two detectives who came out were Salinas and Davis from the death on their last shift. Johnny tugged on Roy's sleeve and pointed.

"Oh, great."

Johnny agreed. "I hope they don't want to keep our equipment this time."

"Well, if they want to take it out of the squad, I don't know if we can stop them." He opened the door for the two detectives. After minimal greetings they repeated the same things they'd told Edgewood and Hallowett. The detectives wrote it down in their notepads, then Salinas went to the back of the house. Davis told them they could go.

The two paramedics both left the house as if they were fleeing the ghost of the boy in it. That house, that family would never be the same again. The crowd of interested neighbors had grown, but none of them got up the nerve to ask them anything or get too close to the squad.

"Wait a minute."

Roy froze, the key to the squad in his hand. Sargent Davis leaned on the squad, looking down at them through the driver's side window.

"I was going to get a hold of you two anyway. We're not pressing any charges on the Ralston case."

Roy and Johnny looked at each other. Johnny leaned forward. "Why not?"

Davis sighed. "It seems that Miss Ralston failed to mention to you that her father had terminal cancer. He had notarized letters with his doctor and his attorney that no extraordinary measures were to be taken to prolong his life and that he wanted to die at home."

"Well, why would she do that?" Roy's tone rose, incredulous.

"Mr. Ralston was not on good terms with his daughter. He was going to leave his house and money to Jake Oppenheim who he'd been friends with for several years. That was the man who attacked you. She thought that if he lived a little longer he might change his mind. It was just bad luck that she was there when her father had his attack and Mr. Oppenheim was out. She wanted us to press murder charges against him, but technically he was already dead before you even got there. But . . . " he lowered his head and rubbed his chin, " . . . then she made a lot of noise thinking that you two should press assault charges since you were the ones who were attacked. You haven't been contacted by Miss Ralston's lawyer, have you?"

They shook their heads. "No."

"Now, going by the letter of the law, you could press assault charges against Mr. Ralston, since he did attack you. But he's a professional wrestler - - Mr. Ralston was his trainer - - so any kind of criminal charge could endanger his license. . . ."

Johnny and Roy looked at each other. Roy shook his head back at Davis. "I don't think so."

Davis shrugged as if it weren't any of his business even though he had obviously been steering the whole conversation. "Well, that's your choice." He stepped away from the squad. "Thanks for your help here."

They saw an older man approach as the squad backed up into the street, but the Sargent just brushed him off as he went back into the house.

Johnny didn't say anything until they were on a busy main street, heading back to the station.

"Man, I don't believe that lady. I just don't believe her!"

"Yeah." Roy kept his eyes on the traffic, slowed down for a yellow light.

"I mean, she used us, Roy! She just wanted to keep her father going, just so she could get him to change his will! She didn't care about him at all!"

"Yeah." Roy made a right turn, going south on Avalon.

"Well, doesn't that make you mad?"

"Yeah." Roy nodded, still looking forward.

Johnny scowled. "Well, you don't look it."

Still driving, Roy glanced his way. "I'm still having a little trouble getting the picture of that boy on the carpet back there out of my head."

"On. Yeah." Johnny couldn't argue with that.

When they got back to the station, it was empty. The log book said that the engine crew had gone out on a brush fire. It wasn't the dry season, so they probably wouldn't be out for long. Roy headed for the office.

"I'm going to fill out the log. I want to get that over with."

Johnny joined him. They were just finishing when the garage door opened and the engine backed in.

"There you are." Stanley strolled in. "Boy, I don't know what people are thinking when they burn trash in their yards and then wonder what went wrong when it gets away from them. Oh, you each owe me a buck and a half; we're having sandwiches for lunch." His cheerful mood faded when he saw their long faces. "How was the run?"

"Bad." Roy flipped the log book closed.

"Real bad." Johnny stood next to him, leaning on the desk. Captain Stanley asked. And they told him. Stanley winced when they told him about the mother who couldn't even see the bullet hole in her son's head until they told her they couldn't help him. Stanley's step-son and daughter were eleven and nine.

"I guess I don't have much to complain about with just a yard fire." He got up from his desk. You're making the beds today, Gage, right?"

"Yeah, Cap."

"Why don't you both go do that for now. We'll eat in about an hour. Then we'll have some hose to hang after lunch."

They left the office and went to the dorm to strip the beds. They wadded all the sheets that C-shift had slept in and Roy took the pile to the washing machine in the utility area in the back of the station while Johnny got out clean bedding. When he came back from starting the load of laundry he silently helped stuff pillows into clean cases. Roy did not seem inclined to talk much about their last run, and Johnny was not inclined to push him. Roy had kids; Johnny didn't. They finished quickly enough, put the sheets in the dryer and went to the day room.

The guys greeted them and told them about the brush fire. And they didn't ask about the squad's last run. Obviously Captain Stanley had told them about it. Even Chet Kelly, who loved needling John Gage about anything, wouldn't joke about a call like that. But Johnny did tell them about Ralston and his daughter. Chet recognized Oppenheim's name and said that he was known as 'The Mauler' in the wrestling ring.

Captain Stanley laid out the sandwich makings and they ate. They were just cleaning up when they got a call and they all ran out to the squad and engine.

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh – BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"Station Fifty-One – Structure fire – Four-Seven-Oh-Eight Evergreen Court - Four-Seven-Oh-Eight Evergreen Court - Cross Street Bell Avenue - Time Out, Twelve Fifty-Three."

"Station Fifty-One, Kay-Em-Gee-Three-Six-Five." Captain Stanley acknowledged the call and put the mic away. He handed a paper with the address to Roy on his way to the engine. Roy automatically handed it to Johnny and started the squad engine as the garage door came up. Daylight came in as the door rose. Then Roy suddenly looked at him. Johnny held up the piece of paper in shock.

"That's my place!"

**

* * *

- - - End Part 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**SOMETIMES, YOU LOSE SOME**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 5**

The whole way there Johnny kept going through who could have set fire to his apartment building. Normally, neither he nor Roy had anything to say on the way to a call unless it came from some place they knew about or a place they're gotten a call from before. But this. . . . . Seymour downstairs smoked like a chimney, and in bed. But he'd be at work now. Thelma used a space heater whenever it got below sixty degrees outside. Laverne didn't smoke, but she'd burned things in her oven a few times. Johnny leaned forward, looking for the header from the fire as they got close.

Roy made the last turn.

"Oh, no. . . . it's Mrs. Morales. Her place is just loaded with candles all over the place."

Johnny spotted his landlady, Mrs Catelli, wringing her hands on the sidewalk with some others from the building, including Mrs. Morales. He jumped out as soon as the squad stopped. Captain Stanley immediately joined them, asking if everyone was out of the building. Mrs Catelli swore that as far as she knew everyone was out. There were a few seconds of surprise in Stanley's hazel eyes when he realized that Gage's apartment was in the building, a white, post-WWII two-story structure with a small side parking lot and a minimal strip of grass and bushes on the side.

They ran back to the squad, put on their tanks and air masks. Johnny heard the siren of a second engine arriving as he went in with Roy, Kelly and Lopez with the hose right behind them, but he didn't turn to see who it was. With the pass keys that Mrs. Catelli had given them, Roy took the first floor, six units (including Mrs. Catelli's place), plus the laundry and storage in the basement.

His breath sounds filling his mask, Johnny led the others up the familiar stairs, his apartment door at the top. He turned left, toward the end of the hall. Smoke billowed out from under Mrs. Morales's door at the end. No keys were needed here; their enemy, the fire, was on the other side. Kelly had an ax ready; they broke it down. Blue sky from a window shone from inside through the smoke, but no flame. He had only been in the front room, the last time Mrs. Morales had invited people in for the Christmas holiday.

They could barely see through where smoke was thickest to a closed door, where they heard crackling sounds of flame. Johnny shoved chairs and a dining table out of the way, tipping it over, the centerpiece crashing and shattering on the floor. Kelly opened the door and jumped back, getting behind Lopez on the hose. The flames in the bedroom were floor to ceiling, the wide bed a pillar of fire. There was a ladder outside, men climbing up to the roof.

The stream of water beat back the fire. Johnny ripped down flaming wall tapestries. He heard thumping above. Very quickly the flames died back into smoke and black char under their assault. The far corner of the room was the worst, black from floor to ceiling where it looked like the flame had gotten through the wall. Marco opened the window to yell down to the others. Another fireman appeared with a hose to double the attack on the remains of the fire.

Seeing his partner, Johnny went out into the main room of Mrs. Morales's apartment. The Captain from Station Eighty-Five and another firefighter went past them into the ruined bedroom. Roy shook his head.

"There's no one else here." The mask muffled his shout.

They went out into the hallway, past the open doors of the other apartments, except for the one at the end. Roy hadn't bothered opening Johnny's door since he knew no one was in there. Johnny pushed his mask back off his face first, his helmet dangling from the strap.

"Man, what a mess."

Roy sighed. "Well, at least you won't have to move. I doubt they'd condemn t he building for that." The smoke, burned wood, drywall and fabric, hung in the air, but it no longer billowed out from the end of the hall.

"Yeah, I guess." Equally glad that all his things didn't burn up in a fire, he still felt sorry for his neighbor. "But poor Mrs. Morales. She's a widow and the only other empty apartment here is the one right under her." The water damage from putting out the fire would end up there. "And you can bet my landlady isn't going to want to rent to her anymore."

"Yeah." Roy looked up and around the hallway. "Does she have family?"

Johnny shrugged. "She's got kids, but I don't know if any of 'em can take her in."

Roy pointed, jingling Mrs. Morales's pass keys. "You want to check your place? See if it's okay?"

Johnny could not imagine how the fire could jump past all the other units to end up in his place, but he agreed. No reason not to look since there were already there. Roy handed him the keys and he opened the door.

Everything was as he'd left it when he'd gone to work that morning. Brown sofa, coffee table with magazines on top, tan chairs, green easy chair, table and chairs in the kitchenette. Woven rug on the wall. Small bookcase where he kept his paramedic manuals and a couple stacks of magazines. There wasn't a lot that could be burned up in a fire. Johnny had found when he was first living on his own that the only way to keep your place neat was to not have a lot of stuff in the first place. But there was still that pile of gear from his last camping trip two weeks ago. But he just wanted to make absolutely sure everything had dried out before he put it all away back in the closet.

Roy turned around. "Looks okay." He'd been there before. Johnny could hardly smell the smoke from down the hall. No damage from that.

Chet Kelly's head appeared in the doorway, his mask hanging from his neck. "What're you two doing in here?"

Before Johnny could stop him, Roy answered. "This is Johnny's place."

Chet''s eyes opened wide. He turned his head back to the hall. "Hey, Marco, come look at this!" They both came in. Now there were four guys in full firefighting gear standing around in the small living room.

Johnny grit his teeth and shut his eyes. "I don't believe it."

"Wow." Chet turned all around. "This is the Lair of Gage."

Marco was less wonder-struck. "Nice place, John."

Pointing, Chet turned on the sofa, a jacket lying over the back. "Look at that. If only it could speak." He held his hands up, framing a picture. "The site of many a dating defeat."

"Chet . . . " Johnny stepped between him an his lonely sofa.

"Do they slap you there, Johnny? Or do they wait until they get to the door?"

He clinched his teeth. "Chet. What're you doing here?"

He jabbed his thumb back toward the hallway. "Cap wants us to check the damage downstairs."

"Well, maybe you should do that." He glared down at Kelly, but it had no effect at all on the shorter man.

"Okay, okay. I know when I'm not wanted. I don't want to tread on your territory. I know how sensitive you are." Practically bowing, Kelly backed away with irritating false respect. Marco rolled his eyes. The two left.

Roy patted him on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."

Grumbling with annoyance that Roy had let those two clowns in, in the first place, Johnny followed, locking the door behind them. Outside, the damage didn't look as bad as it could have been, but Mrs. Catelli peppered him with questions about the inside. He answered as honestly as he could. It would be expensive. But he and Roy and Captain Stanley refused to speculate about the cause. That was the investigator's job, though it was fairly obvious that Mrs. Catelli had her own ideas judging from the cross looks she gave to Mrs. Morales who stood further down on the sidewalk with two young men who looked very much like her.

Captain Stanley had already made them available with Dispatch. They weren't needed for the cleanup so they went back to the squad to put away their breathing gear.

"So, uh, what kind of neighborhood is this? Is it pretty safe?"

Puzzled by his partner's questions, Johnny swung the tank off his back. "Safe? Well. . . . I guess." There was a busy, commercial street a half a black away, more apartments on the next block opposite that. A few small houses. No trees. No families with kids or pets in his apartment building (Mrs. Catelli did not like them). But there was a park with brown grass and a baseball field six blocks away. A high school beyond that. "Nothing special. Somebody broke into Mr. Gresham's place downstairs last year, but it turned out to be his own son."

He hefted his tank into the squad compartment. Roy's put his in after it. "So, there's not a lot of crime or anything, then?" He gazed back toward the apartment building. Johnny looked, too. Then back at his partner.

"Not any more than anywhere else, I guess."

"So, you don't. . . . keep anything to protect yourself . . . " Roy hardly looked back at him as he slid out of his turnout coat.

"Hunh?"

"I mean, if something happened, y'know, you might have to protect yourself. . . " He folded his turnout coat over his arm.

"Roy?" Johnny put his hand on the railing on the top of the squad over the open compartment. "Are you asking me if I have a gun?"

Roy's blue eyes guiltily looked back. "Well, I mean, it's just you. Nothing could happen, even if you kept it loaded. . . just in case."

"Roy?" Johnny's voice rose. "Do you have a gun?"

Roy stuffed the turnout coat into the compartment. Johnny stepped back as he slammed the doors shut.

"Roy? Are you crazy? You've got kids!"

Roy whirled back at him. "I know!"

Johnny jumped back. Roy opened the driver's side door and got in.

Walking around the front, Johnny took off his own coat, stuffed it into the front compartment on the passenger side and got in, hanging up his helmet behind the seat. Roy sat staring forward, hands in his lap. Johnny looked forward through the windshield at the two fire engines, men still running back and forth doing cleanup. Captain Stanley stood talking with Eighty-Five's captain.

"I keep thinking about it." Roy didn't look at him as the spoke; Johnny only saw him in his side vision. "That run this morning. That kid . . . . . "

"Yeah."

"And that little girl. I keeping thinking about my own kids . . . . If they were a little older. . . ."

Out on the street, Eighty-Five's captain called out to his men in the apartment. Carrying hose, Kelly and Lopez came out of the building.

"Do you keep it loaded?"

"No!"

Johnny didn't react to Roy's anger and he backed down, resting his arms on the steering wheel.

"A guy wants to be able to protect his family."

"Lot of ways for a guy to protect your family. Depends on what you're protecting it from."

"Yeah?" Roy's anger flared again. "Well, what would you do if somebody broke into your place? Came after you with a gun?"

Johnny shrugged. 'I'd fight back any way I could. But I know I couldn't shoot him."

"You couldn't shoot him? Even if you knew he was going to kill you?"

Johnny shook his head, absolutely sure. "Nope. I'd find another way."

'How?"

"I dunno. I just would." He pointed at himself. "I know I wouldn't shoot another person. So, there's no point in me having a gun."

With a draft and a war, Johnny had thought a lot about it. He doubted he qualified as a conscientious objector, but it never got that far. His local draft board never seemed to notice he was there and then he got a lucky high number in the lottery. Roy didn't wait to be drafted; he joined the Army. Johnny wondered if that was where the gun came from. But Roy never killed anyone. He broke his wrist in a training accident. His orders to go overseas got canceled and never got renewed even after the injury healed.

Johnny knew he'd never shoot another human being. If he had to defend himself, he'd find another way.

Roy did not look anywhere near as confident. "Yeah, well. . . . I'm going to talk to Joanne about it."

Clenching his teeth, he looked forward again at the two fire engines in the sunny parking lot. There was no smoke from the building anymore. He didn't trust himself to argue with Roy about this; he was too upset, too shocked. He wasn't even sure if there was an argument. And he couldn't argue with Roy about wanting to talk to his wife about it.

Roy started the engine. They left the scene.

**

* * *

- - - End Part 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**SOMETIMES YOU LOSE SOME**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 6**

* * *

Johnny got to work before Roy on their next shift. The workmen that Mrs. Catelli hired were coming in and starting up at 5:30 AM. Hammers, saws, men tromping up and downstairs. People had complained loudly, but Mrs. Catelli said that she was lucky to get them at all on such short notice; they were working on another job, too, and would only be coming in early for a few more days. She said it nicer to Johnny than she did to the others, since he had helped put out the fire. And she refused to talk about Mrs. Morales, who was staying with one of her sons.

Roy came in. "Hi."

Buttoning his blue uniform shirt, Johnny nodded back. "Hi." He reached for his badge.

"You're in early."

"Yeah, well . . ." He told Roy about the noise and the workmen. His partner listened while he got dressed, occasionally offering a sympathetic comment. They made as much noise as they could coming up the stairs and going down the hall with their equipment, boards, sheets of drywall, buckets. They tore things out in the ruined apartment and dragged the wreckage down the stairs right past Johnny's door.

Dressed, Roy sat down on the bench in front of his locker and pinned his name badge on, the last thing.

"I, uh, talked to Joanne . . . about the other day. That run we had and the gun."

Johnny froze. He had not exactly forgotten about that run, the dead child. . . . he didn't like to think about things like that. But Roy had to. He put his foot up on the bench and leaned forward on his knee.

"Yeah."

Roy shrugged. "I got rid of it. Got a few bucks for it at a pawn shop."

Johnny straightened, nodded. "Oh, okay. What did Joanne say."

"She wanted me to get rid of it. And I guess, after that run . . . I'm more afraid of something like that happening than someone breaking in. I thought we might go out to dinner, but Joanne confiscated the money for the kids' college fund."

Johnny sat down on the bench next to him. He was sure that Roy had done the right thing, but he didn't want to sound like he was rubbing it in that he was right.

"I guess it just comes down to wanting to protect your family."

Roy nodded. "Yeah."

They got up and went to the day room. Dwyer and Benton were just going off, but there was a box of powdered donuts on the kitchen table and they lingered over coffee. C-shift had been slow. Only six runs. Only five for the squad. Yawning, Johnny thought he could use a slow shift after being gotten up so early and so rudely. But as soon as they'd check out the equipment on the squad and Captain Stanley called the morning lineup the alarm went off.

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh – BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"Squad/ Fifty-One – Man with chest pains, in the office – One-one-two-six-six Drury Lane - One-one-two-six-six Drury Lane - Cross Street, Starlight Boulevard - Time Out, Eight-twenty-seven."

It took them nine minutes to get there. 'The office' turned out to be Footlights Talent Agency, a first floor office in a gray stone building. A small, older woman with frosty gray hair, pearly horned-rim glasses and wearing a bright green dress held the door open for them.

"It's Morrie, back here." She led them through an outer office; fretting young women in chairs and at desks with typewriters watched them go by.

"He said he wasn't feeling well. I don't know why he had to come in if he wasn't. Now he's sitting there with his hand on his chest saying he's having a heart attack." She sounded skeptical, her voice loud and grating with an east coast accent.

Middle-aged, balding, overweight and diaphoretic, Morrie sat in a big padded chair behind a desk in an inner office, wood-paneled walls covered with photos. A nervous young red-head in a mini-skirt held a phone to her ear.

"Footlights Talent Agency, can I help you? . . . . . I'm sorry, he's in a meeting right now." She held the phone away from her ear from the loud voice coming out of it. She edged to the side to let them by while she took a message.

"Finally! I'm dying here!" Morrie clutched his chest. he wore a short-sleeved white shirt, the collar and tie loosened.

"Well, we're here to help." Roy put the drug box on the desk. "I'm Roy DeSoto and my partner his is John Gage. How long have you been feeling bad?"

With Roy holding his wrist, Morrie moaned about feeling lousy getting up in the morning, but the chest pain came on suddenly when he was dictating to his secretary. Johnny grabbed another phone on the desk and dialed Rampart. Dixie McCall answered and he passed on the vital signs from Roy to her. By the time Dr. Brackett got on the phone they had Morrie's shirt open, the EKG leads attached to his chest. Sinus rhythm. Brackett ordered IV D5W, TKO, 5 mg MS.

"Ooooooooh, has anyone called my wife?" Morrie moaned and tried to rub his chest; Roy had to push his hand down and tell him to keep still.

"I left a message with the maid." The small woman with the horned-rim glasses shrugged.

"What? What's she doing going out when I'm dying here? Ooooooh." He moaned again; the IV was in, but Morrie hardly seemed to have noticed.

"Ma'am could you hold this." Roy gave the woman the IV bag. Calm, she took it, holding it up.

"Probably out shopping, spending my money. No wonder I'm having a heart attack. Buying another mink coat. I swear she's gonna ruin me."

"Well, at least you finally proved to everybody you gotta heart, Morrie."

Johnny glanced at the older woman; she did not look worried. Unlike the secretary, wide-eyed and scared, clutching her hands before her. Three more woman peeked in through the open door. He heard a siren outside.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?"

The young secretary tore her eyes off of Morrie.

"Can you go out and bring the ambulance crew in here?"

She stared.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, we need you to go out and bring in the ambulance crew."

"Oh, oh, oh, yes! Of course!" She hurried out.

The scope still read sinus rhythm and Morrie looked like he was feeling better.

"I work my tail off to buy that woman things. Big house, pool, furs, jewels, fancy cars. What more does she want anyway? Is it too much to expect her to be there when I'm dying here? Show some loyalty?"

He was far from dying though his blood pressure was high, his pulse rapid. The woman holding the IV bag was less than sympathetic. "Yeah, you're a real pussy-cat, Morrie."

"Yeah, I am." Morrie nodded. "And a lot of gratitude I get from you and the girls for it, too. I give you all jobs. You'd all be out on the street without me – aaaaaah!"

The scope changed.

"Roy, PVCs." Johnny relayed the new info to Brackett. 100 mg lidacane push and then lidacane drip. The ambulance attendants came in with the gurney. Johnny and Roy knew them. Frank and George, and they were both trained as EMTs.

The lidacane worked. Morrie stabilized enough for him to issue orders to the fearful women in the outer office as they wheeled him out. The woman in the horned-rim glasses, whose name was Nora, told Morrie that she would keep calling his wife as they loaded him into the ambulance. Roy climbed in back along with George.

Johnny followed the ambulance, siren blaring. Traffic was heavy, but they didn't have any problems. At the Emergency entrance, he backed the squad in, got out and went in. But when he looked around the busy emergency department hallway, he didn't see where they had gone until George came out with his gurney. He got a brief glance through the open door of Roy doing CPR on the man amidst a crowd of white medical uniforms.

"Hey, what happened?"

George shook his head. "Guy went sour right before got here, just like that." He moved on and met Frank by the entrance.

"Wow." Johnny put his hands on his hips and stared at the door; 'PARENTS and VISITORS ARE REQUESTED TO WAIT IN THE WAITING ROOM – NO SMOKING'.

Then he jumped aside for an orderly with a gurney. And then a nurse with a cart. Rampart Hospital's Emergency department actually wasn't too busy, but there were always a lot of staff around. An old man in a bathrobe wandered past. And a few patients.

Since they obviously had a enough people to work on Morrie, he went down the hall to the base station, but Dr. Morton were busy on a call there. He listened long enough to hear that it was Squad Forty-Five with a kid with a broken leg. Swinging the HT from the strap on his wrist, he moved on. Morton was an okay guy, but not when he was busy. The break room was empty. And no coffee, too.

Flopping down on the sofa, he mentally went over any current dating possibilities. Sally in Pediatrics had made it clear that she was not interested. Tina, in the Administrator's office liked to flirt, but always seemed to have something else to do whenever he asked her out. Ellie in Hematology . . . Amy in the Lab . . . he didn't know if they were working that day. Nurses had schedules worse than firemen. He settled for looking for Sherry in the cafeteria. Maybe she would at least say why she didn't want to go out with him. But when he got there, he found out that she was off that day. At least, that was what the other cashier told him.

He had some coffee with one of the doctors who worked in the burn unit upstairs. Johnny went back to the base station. It was quiet, Dixie McCall sitting on the stool at the counter and filling out a form. She nodded when he asked if Roy was still helping Dr. Brackett with Morrie.

Johnny grimaced. That didn't sound good for Morrie.

**

* * *

- - - End Part 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**SOMETIMES, YOU LOSE SOME**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 7**

* * *

Looking down the hall, he recognized a dress. A couple mini-skirts, some styled hair. It looked like all the girls from Morrie's office were now in Rampart's waiting area, sitting and pacing. He wondered if his talent agency included models. Now that he could stop and really look, he could see that they were all really beautiful. All in their twenties, in make-up, but not too much. Long legs, slender waists and full figures otherwise. He sighed. They were all gorgeous. He could see himself sliding down into a chair between any two of them. Any one of them letting him put his arm around her would be fantastic, but he didn't dare try his chances there, at least not until they found out how Morrie was. And if their boss died . . . . asking any of them for a date would be just creepy.

One of them who was sitting at the end of a row of chairs in the middle, spotted him. The red-headed girl who had been on the phone when they came in craned her neck, trying to make eye contact around an orderly pushing a man down the hall in a wheelchair. Hastily, Johnny looked away, pretending to be interested in the folders on Dixie's desk. He didn't have any news for her and he had a bad feeling that it wouldn't be good. Dixie saw the girls in the waiting area, but she must have known that they were there for Morrie because she just gave him a smile and didn't say anything else. Frank and Clyde from Squad Forty-Five came out of Treatment Room Three and they chatted while the two other paramedics resupplied their drug box at the base station. But after they left, he was stuck waiting again. . . . .

. . . . not for long. A nurse and then an intern emerged from Treatment Room Four. Johnny already knew what had happened even before Brackett and then Roy came out. Morrie hadn't made it.

Sighing heavily, Roy put their equipment down at the base station. Dixie looked up at Brackett.

"Didn't make it, eh?"

Brackett shook his head. "No. Once he flat-lined, we never got him back." Then he noticed Roy looking down the hall and turned. Johnny nodded toward the waiting area.

'They're, uh, from your patient's office."

Roy nodded. "Yeah, they work for him."

"Oh." Brackett looked unhappy; he would have to tell them.

"This probably isn't a good time to tell you this, Kel, but Mrs. Rapnek is back."

Brackett grimaced. "You're kidding."

Dixie slowly shook her head. "Nope. And she won't see anyone but you. She's been waiting in One."

Brackett briefly glanced back over his shoulder toward the waiting area and then toward Treatment Room One, obviously weighing which option was worse. But Roy bailed him out.

"We'll tell them, Doc."

Brackett thanked them and left. Johnny didn't know who Mrs. Rapnek was, but from Brackett's expression, he wasn't sure if he would have preferred his other option. But he was the doctor, and he had to see the patient. And they could tell the girls about Morrie.

Halfway down the hall, the redhead made eye contact with Johnny. And he couldn't look away this time.

"Roy." Johnny touched his arm and they stopped. "Uh, I'll tell them."

"Are you sure?"

Roy was better at this kind of thing. Johnny knew that Roy was better at this kind of thing. Roy knew that Johnny knew that he was better at this kind of thing. But Johnny suddenly felt guilty about ducking away when she looked at him before. And Roy had been in there with Morrie while he had just been hanging around the hospital.

"Yeah, I'll do it."

The girl stood up from the chair as he approached. She wore a tight white turtleneck and blue slacks. Her red hair was shoulder length; she had green eyes and a pretty, pointed chin.

"I'm, uh, sorry, Ma'am. The doctor's did everything they could, but Morrie didn't make it."

Her mouth opened with a little involuntary gasp, her eyes widening. The others had gotten up as well and stood around them. Nora, in her green dress and horned-rim glasses, was on the waiting area's pay phone.

"You mean, he's dead?"

He nodded back to her. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry."

She put her hand on her chest.

"AAAAAAAiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee-eeeeeee-eeeeeee!"

She lunged at him, grabbing him around the body and hugging him tightly. Arms up and close to his body defensively, he tried to back up, but suddenly they were all over him. All of them, hugging and grabbing.

"Muh, muh, muh, muh!"

The redhead planted rapid-fire kisses on his lips, his chin, his cheeks. And the others did it, too.

"Muh, muh, muh, muh, muh, muh, muh!"

Lips smacking his cheeks, neck, ears, they surrounded him with hair and perfume and lips. He could only turn around in place.

"Muh, muh, muh, muh!"

Their bodies pressing on him on all sides, they pulled his shirt out from his pants, touched his hair, grabbed him around the waist and buttocks. A hand went between his legs.

"Aaaaahhhh!"

"Muh, muh, muh, muh!"

Suddenly, one of them broke contact. Then they all did, like a flock of birds taking flight. Still spinning, he came to a stop, pointing toward the visitor's exit where they all, still shrieking and laughing, disappeared through a door. Gasping, he just stared after them.

_What? Just? Happened?_

Roy walked around to block his view of the door where they're gone. Dixie McCall joined him.

"Looks like they weren't all that unhappy that Morrie didn't make it."

Dixie folded her arms before her. "I guess not."

Johnny stepped to one side so he could see the door where they had gone. His brain caught up with what had happened. Six – six! – beautiful women had just thrown themselves at him. He put his hands on his chest. His badge and name tag and pen were still there, but he could also still feel where they had grabbed him.

Dixie glanced up at Roy. "You think we need to get the oxygen for him?"

"Maybe." His partner ginned and leaned toward him. "You okay?"

"Hunh?" Okay? Okay? What did he mean by okay? "Uh, . . . ." The people remaining in the waiting area stared at him. ". . . . yeah. I'm . . . . fine." He brushed at the perfume smell lingering on his shirt. They had smelled sssoooooo good. He couldn't remember what he was doing when they were hugging him.

"I just got off the phone with Morrie's wife." They all looked at Nora, who had hung up the pay phone and walked over to them. "She wants to know where she's supposed to pick up the body."

"Uh, she can ask at the admissions desk here and they'll tell her what she needs to do." Dixie pointed toward the desk at one end of the waiting area.

"Thanks." Nora turned to follow the girls out, but then stopped to face them again. "Morrie was a pig. He had that heart attack while he was chasing poor Ginger around the desk. Again. The agency's is going to be a lot nicer place without him. His wife is meeting us there. She's bringing the champagne." She swaggered off to the exit.

Johnny watched her go. Six beautiful girls, six of them! Ginger, the redhead, had pressed her whole body to him. And the others . . . . three of them had been blonds, the others brunettes; one of them had lighter brown hair than the other. . . . But the impression of where they had touched him was fading fast.

"Hey." Standing next to him, Roy laid a hand on his shoulder. "You ready to go back to work? Or do I need to get that oxygen?"

"Hunh?"

"I think he needs a little clean-up first." Dixie's smile broadened.

"Oh, I was hoping the guys back at the station could see it first."

"Hunh? What?" Baffled, he looked from him to her. Dixie tapped her cheek with a finger. Johnny touched his face. When he looked at his fingertips they were smudged red. Lipstick.

He started rubbing at it, but Roy pointed him toward the men's room. When they got there, Johnny leaned forward at the reflection in the mirror. Their lip impressions were all over his cheeks and chin and neck. Pink and red. He could not believe it.

Six beautiful women. Six _gorgeous_ women.

Standing behind him, Roy poked at his neck. "They got you back here, too."

Johnny winced away, put the HT down on the shelf under the mirror and turned on the faucet. "Just get me some paper towels." He splashed water on his face, pressed on the soap dispenser and started scrubbing. He got the collar of his shirt wet, but he got all the lipstick off. At least he thought he did until Roy told him that he was a little red behind the ears. He scrubbed there with a paper towel.

Finally finishing, he turned around, leaned on the sink and threw the last wadded up paper towel in the trash. Roy patted him on the back.

"So, how's it feel to be mauled by beautiful girls?"

Johnny shook his head. "I don't believe it, Roy. I just don't believe it. It just . . . . happened so fast." He wanted to try it again. Be ready for them.

"Well, I guess if you went to Morrie's funeral you'd be the guest-of-honor at the party."

His mouth opened, but . . . . that just sounded creepy. He shook his head.

"Nooooo, I can't, Roy. It wouldn't be right." Six women throwing themselves at him at the funeral of a victim that they hadn't been able to save. He shook his head. "I just can't." He threw the last wad of paper towel into the trash.

"Well, I guess it would be kind of strange." Back to the mirror, Roy folded his arms and leaned on the sink, too.

"I mean, Roy, when we walk in the door, we don't know anything about the victim except that they need our help." He gestured with his hands, trying to gather his thoughts about something that he knew he was certain of, but just hadn't ever formed the words for. "And I don' wanna know anything, no matter how bad it is because . . . . that's just gonna get in the way. Just knowing any of that would be like, like . . . checking whether somebody was worth rescuing from a fire before pulling them out."

"Yeah," Roy nodded, "I know."

He did, too. Johnny was sure his partner understood; he didn't have to say anymore . . . . but . . . . _six beautiful girls_ . . . . He sighed.

"I just can't go someplace where they're celebrating that we lost that guy. No mater how many beautiful girls are there."

"Yeah, sometimes we lose a few. That doesn't ever make me feel like celebrating." Roy patted him on the shoulder. Johnny just shook his head. _Six beautiful girls. . . . . ._

Sometimes you lose some.

**

* * *

END **

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.


End file.
